Jane Allen, Junior eBook

The deep-set eyes took on a look more confident than
defiant, and even “Kitten” did not fail
to observe a marked improvement in the speaker’s
manner and appearance.

Shirley was powerful and forceful, with that unruly
aggressiveness conspicuous in young children, when
the weakness is classified as “having their
own way” before twelve years, and as “being
capable” after that—­the latter faculty
true fruit of the former germ. So it was with
this country girl; her very crimes were molding into
virtues, and that again proves a world old philosophy.

“Your hair is very becoming that way,”
ventured the blonde Sally, whose own hair was always
a most exacting halo—­Sally had to live up
to it. “And you don’t mind being called
Bobbie?”

“I like it,” answered Shirley. “I
suppose you know what a time I had to get the wig
back to hair after the treatment. I am positive
that east side French woman was trying an experiment
on my poor head. But among other things the accident
did for me, it gave my hair a chance to shoot.”
She ran her long fingers through the rather stubby
growth that had taken on a decided unruliness in splendid
imitation of curl. “You see it was rubbed
every day, and that charitable nurse rubbed curl right
in it. I just love it and wouldn’t interfere
with it for anything. Curling hair artificially,
I know, simply makes it cranky.”

“Yes, spoils its temper and breaks its character.
Just like twisting a tender vine and forcing it to
turn away from its chosen paths. How are you
getting on with your cramming? Can I help you?”
asked Sally, diverging suddenly.

“That’s the hard part of it now.
I can’t face Miss Allen. She’s such
a good sport.” The bobbed brown head was
suddenly dropped into her cupped hands reflectively.
“You see, at first, Kitten, I was just a rebel;
satisfied to get in here and to have the name of it.
Then, these girls whom I so despised were so fine
to me,” again the look of dejection, “and,
girlie, when I lay on my back at the foot of that
hill and Jane Allen whispered ‘Shirley’
into my buzzing ears—­ it did something
to me.” Her companion allowed the pause
to act without venturing to interrupt it. It
was the working of the miracle! “Yes,
and she meant it, too,” went on Shirley reflectively.
“No silly stuff just because she feared I was
done for. She and big, brown-freckled Dozia just
seemed to drag me back to earth, while the other!”
her eyes blazed. “Do you know why I have
never spoken of my companion on that hateful ride?”